Through The Eyes of an ExAmerican
by insanelaughtler
Summary: It's approaching the fifty year anniversary since the fall of the United States of America. A world meeting is being held place in the city that was once named Washington D.C., capital of the long deceased America. During their stay, the nations of the world are experiencing encounters with many intriguing people. Or person. Is the personification of America really dead?
1. Chapter 1

Through the Eyes of an Ex-American.

Chapter 1

An old man walks down the streets of New York City. No, that wasn't right. He was walking down the streets of New Toronto. Yes, that was it.

He looks around from beneath graying hair with gray eyes. It was so much different now, better different. The place was cleaner, the buildings were cleaner, and the people no longer had the dirty look in their eyes should you meet them in a dark corner. It was better, he was joyful for that.

Joyful.

/

A young girl skipps down Flint, Michigan. No, it was Flint, Lake Province. She didn't like that name.

She had bouncy brown curls and gleaming green eyes and not a parent in sight. She continues skipping until she found the park she was looking for and ran in, making a beeline for the lone swing in the side. Hopping on she swung herself while looking around the city from the surprisingly good viewing area. It was so nice here, now. No murders, no bad people.

Her knowledge was beyond the years she looked. Not many would even know that this place once had a high murder rate. It was better, she was glad for that.

Glad.

/

A teenage boy sat upon a bench in Las Vegas. He wondered why they kept that name. If they were going to change the city so drastically, why didn't they change the name?

He sullenly looks up from the ground and observes the the reformed city while sweeping his dark hair from his light brown eyes. The place was appartments and stores and grocery stores and nursing homes. Nothing like before, it was a place where everyone could help each other and live in peace. Not waste money.

He didn't know what to think of it. He supposed it was better. Better. So he decided to feel pleased at the progress.

Pleased.

/

A young woman with straight black hair and dark eyes walking down a Chinatown street.

A middle aged man with a balding head and tired eyes going to the nearest postal office.

A toddler with clear green eyes and blond hair gazing at the vast sea.

A small boy with dark blue eyes and messy ginger hair watching the other kids play.

All of them alone and watching.

/

A young man with bright blue eyes and brownish blond hair walked alone in Washington D. C. He sighed, he'll never get used to it. He walked alone in this city without that name, he can't be bothered to learn the new one. Well, the name wasn't new. It was quite old by now.

He walks and walks around, it's not the same. He doesn't want to think about what happened to his beloved statue of Lincoln, or his great Smithsonian Museum, or his ever-so-loved White House, or- he doesn't want to think about it.

He's changed since before. His still fingers absentmindedly push up the glasses that aren't there or try to smooth that ridiculous lock of hair that has fallen down years before.

But that's not all that changed.

His once sparkling blue eyes were flat, but ageless. They had seen a lot and that's the first thing noticeable. His once booming voice had become a soft spoken but still assertive, even coldly assertive. His obnoxious laugh was traded for a quiet chuckle. His bomber jacket was replaced with an inconspicuous blue hoodie.

He was different.

It pained him to see the old capital no more than the other cities. The only thing held here now was the occasional World meeting. On the fourth of July. It hurts him and hurts him bad. Even after they thought he was dead they still would hurt him.

It was a week before the fourth of July. Yet they were already here.

Lemon juice and picking scabs and never healing cuts.

It hurts.

But he's still happy for them.

Happy.


	2. Chapter 2

**I should introduce myself. Hi my name is insanelaughtler, how are you? Anyway, thank you for all the great reviews for my first chapter! I seriously love you all. In a totally non-creeper way. Just as a thing, I can't write very long chapters, so please bare with me. **

* * *

Chapter 2

He wakes up to an alarm clock. 5:30.

He gets out of bed and tries to remember where he is. He's in the city that used to be his treasured capitol. He's in the blue building with the white and blue lobby and the brown haired receptionist. He's in a little apartment with neutral walls and nice view.

He vaguely remembers a large, beautiful house with many memories. Memories that were burned like the wood around it. Memories that were forgotten like cinders swept away by the wind.

He shakes his head. It hurts to remember.

He puts on a suit and tie and dress shoes. Gray and white and black. So boring. So nice. He works for the government of Canada. The Canada that stretches from the tip of North America to Mexico's land of Texas. There's no country in between. The one that was dissolved 50 years ago, in six days.

Hurts. Hurts. Hurts.

He's here to see _them_ again. But not meet them. He'll know who they are, they'll see him as an attendee. Because they won't recognize him. He won't let them.

/

He waits beside the mirror in the front hall of the building they are meeting in for this week long conference. In what used to be D.C. He winces slightly.

The door opens and a commanding presence enters.

A presence with blond, maybe light brown hair. With lavender eyes behind rounded glasses. With this ridiculous strand of hair that completely takes away from his commanding figure. A presence that looks almost identical to-

"Who are you?" Canada- Matthew- _Canada_ asks.

The man almost wants to laugh it was so ironic. But he doesn't, instead he replies in a soft, cool voice, "Hello sir, I'm the assistant to Mr. Williams for this meeting."

Canada gives a curt nod, "That is me, do you have the papers?"

The man nods and raises a brief case, "Yes, sir."

"Good, accompany me," With that he turns and strides down the hall.

The man turns to accompany him but first glances at the mirror.

Black hair. Brown eyes. Tan skin. No glasses. No weird hair.

No wonder Canada couldn't remember him.

/

_What a boring meeting..._

The man's mind had numbed about an hour ago. It was a world meeting, but the their bosses had come as well, so chaos was a no-no. Too bad, he was looking forward to see how everyone was faring. On second thoughts, if it was a nations only meeting then he wouldn't be there. Oh well.

Boring topics from boring speakers in a boring room in a boring country. Well, the country wasn't boring all the time. And this city definitely wasn't boring while it was still named Washington D.C. Now it was a boring city with a boring name that he swears not to learn.

Finally someone calls a lunch break. Someone with blond gelled hair and piercing blue eyes and- someone named Germany. The man smiled slightly, he almost forgot about their names. No, he would never forget their names. It was them who would forget his.

Canada looks at the man with the unseeing eyes that wants to make the man laugh like he once did before.

"Excuse me, sir, but I forgot to ask your name."

Question in statement form. Canada has become more assertive, more official, more boring. But better.

The man answers as it was his name all his life, "Adams, sir, Peter Adams."

"Thank you, Mr. Adams."

"Please, call me Peter," A nation has the right to be superior to a human. Even if he wasn't a human. Entirely human at any rate.

"Of course... Peter," Canada says before giving his order of which food he wants from where and when to get it to him.

The man remembers, nods, and leaves. Nobody recognizes him.

/

He walks to the place where his Mr. Williams wants food from. When he walks in the door chimes to announce his presence. Many other people are there, he knows them all. Yet they don't know him. Consciously. Unconsciously they do know him and part for him. He has a small smile.

He walks to the back to order from this cafe. Two people are also back there. Two people he kno- knew well. Two people who don't know him.

One with messy blond hair. With emerald green eyes. With eyebrows that are almost always mistaken for caterpillars.

The other with beautiful blond hair. With mischievous blue eyes. With a stubble of a beard.

Both similar in height.

The man ponders, bored.

England and France.

They're bickering. Again. They haven't changed at all. The man wonders why none of their kind ever changes. Well, Canada changed. No, he's always been that on the inside. He was passive-aggressive. The man has changed, though. He changes everyday.

_That's not true._

He's always been the same. Always changing, always hiding, always different. So he never changed, either. Because changing was regular to him. If he ever stayed in one person or one mind set or one personality then he would truly change.

England- Arthur- _England_ notices the man with the black hair and brown eyes.

"Hey, aren't you Matthew's attendant?" He asks.

"If you mean Mr. Williams, then yes," The man says in a monotone. He's been having a hard time conjuring new feelings and personalities and mind sets lately. All he can do is look different to the eyes, but not the mind. The mind who looked anyway.

"Oh, okay. Ask him if he wants to meet with us, Francis and Arthur, at our regular bar today, will you? Thanks," He says without waiting for a reply. England turns and attempts to stop France from groping the unfortunate passing waitress.

The man slips past them and orders. He looks directly into the eyes of the waiter. Her eyes widen slightly and reflects a brilliant blue, but only for a second. They become normal once more and she doesn't seem to remember that second. The only hint is that he gets his order before everyone else.

/

The man, Peter Adams as he calls himself, has delivered the lunch to Mr. Williams remarkably fast.

"Thank you, Peter," Canada says, "But how did you get it so fast? If I'm not mistaken, the cafe is always busy during the week."

The man smiles slightly, "I have my ways, Mr. Williams."

To this Canada's eyes narrow slightly but it passes quickly as he dismisses any suspicions for the man is just a normal attendant. Or so he thinks. And for all anybody knew he could be right.

The man speaks again, "While I was there two men, who referred to themselves as Mr. Francis and Mr. Arthur, asked me to ask you if you wished to go to your regular bar today."

Canada nodded, "Thank you. I'll have to tell them 'no'..."

_Once upon a time that was me._

The man smiles, more like slightly curve up the corner of his mouth, and looks at the floor.

_Things have changed._

* * *

**Yeah, this is pretty confusing right now. Please bare (or is it bear? Can someone help me with this grammar/spelling issue?) with me for a while. It'll get easier to understand. I hope.**

**I like reviews if anybody cares...**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

In the city that used to be a capitol. In the blue building with the white and blue lobby and the brown haired receptionist. In a little apartment with neutral walls and nice view. A figure finishes eating the dinner it had prepared and leaves the unremarkable apartment.

As the figure walks down the hall it glances in a hand held mirror.

Auburn hair. Light hazel eyes. Pale skin.

Female.

She smiles and strides down the hall once more.

* * *

She arrives at a lavish and expensive bar. Walking in she goes directly to the back, to the bar itself and enters. The bartender looks at her with a slightly surprised and mostly annoyed expression.

"Hey, what are you-"

He never finishes his question as his eyes reflect a brilliant blue and then goes back to the stormy gray they were before. He acts more kindly this time.

"Good evening, Sarah, you're just in time for your shift," He smiles warmly at her, like dear old friends.

"Thank you Mr. Oliver, I'll take over from here," The woman smiles back with earnest... ness...

"Thanks, Sarah, goodnight."

"'Night."

Mr. Oliver then took off his apron and left the bar. He never thought once about how he never met her before.

Sarah, as the woman was referred to, put on a different apron and a name tag saying 'Sarah McAlisson.' She tosses her braided hair across her shoulder and flashes a dazzling smile at the nearest bartenders who can't help but stare. Business increased by twenty percent that night.

Finally, around ten o'clock the reason why Sarah is here arrives. Well, reasons.

"You bloody frog! Can't you ever keep your hands to yourself?"

"I simply cannot resist _l'amour_! Ohonhonhonhon~"

"Don't touch me there, wanker!"

The woman sighed. She wondered why she came here tonight and vaguely remembered a desire. To see... She couldn't remember. The decision was made in a different mind, a different form.

"_Mademoiselle_, come over here, _sil vous plait_?" A French voice called her.

She comes over and flashes them her dazzling smile, her signature for tonight, "Good evening, gentlemen. Would you like something?"

"Well, yes. There is a certain something I would like..." The Frenchman gave her a seductive look than would work on anyone. Except for non-humans. So, instead, she shuddered.

"You frog!" The Englishman smacked him on the back of his head and turned to the woman with an apologetic look, "I'm terribly sorry for _that_."

_Don't worry, you'll be worse than that after a couple drinks._

"It's fine, sir. Happens a lot in bars these days." She gives a genuine smile that only a truly happy human could give. Too bad it was a fake.

England ordered and went back to arguing with France. For a second her look softened, then hardened, and then she turned her attention to another customer.

* * *

"The wanker! I just wanted to help him but he, he, he..." The drunken Englishman trailed off.

"Honestly, _l'angleterre_, you must learn how to hold your liquor," France shook his head sadly.

"I can hold my bloody liquor, you frog! Or did you forget that I'm the great British Empire?" He rants.

"You haven't been the British Empire for quite some time," France chuckled.

"What did you say to me, you scurv? I'll have you walk the plank!" England had seemed to enter pirate mode.

"Whatever you say, _angleterre_," France laughed, "Now be a good boy while I, ahem, talk with the ladies."

With that the infamous French pervert left, probably to molest the nearby females. Obviously to molest the nearby females, or males, or inanimate objects, or... It depends...

The woman shuddered once more.

She looked at England, who was now muttering something about his religion or whatnot and remembered why she was here. She went to the nearest bar patron. He was a, presumably, single young man with cornflower colored hair.

She knew him.

"Hey Robert, how've you been?"

He had never seen her before.

"I'm fine, Sarah. Is it my shift yet?"

But he felt that he knew her.

"Yeah, I got to go."

His eyes reflected a brilliant blue for a split second then became their normal dark green again.

"Of course, 'night Sarah."

"Bye, Robert."

He enters the bar and puts on an apron and begins taking orders and fetching the drinks. He forgets that he has never worked in a bar before.

The woman smiles at him and takes off her apron. She leaves the bar and heads toward a drunken Englishman who has moved to a lone table in the corner of the room.

* * *

"Hey, Iggy!" A cheerful, happy voice cuts through the air. One that hasn't been heard in years.

The called man looks up, startled. Being completely uncoordinated while drunk, he also falls from his seat and drops his glass of alcohol. The man with the happy, if annoying, voice helps him up and puts him back in his seat. He dusts off England's shoulders and grins.

"Really, drunk already? You haven't even been here that long!"

"I-I... You aren't.. wh- Why? H-how are you-" England's cut off.

"HAHAHA! Speechless in my heroic presence? Don't worry, everyone gets like that to the hero!"

"No! It's not that you git!" England's still drunk but frustrated enough to finally make a comprehensible sentence, "How are you-"

The man laughs loudly, once again cutting off England, "Well, I just wanted to see you face to face again, England!"

With that the man leaves, a blink and he's gone. Vanished. Like the ghosts that he was so afraid of.

England finally finds the words he's been trying the say.

"How are you here?"

Only the chatter of the bar answers him.

"I thought you were dead."

The man could have never been there.

"America."

* * *

France sashayed over the table, having narrowly avoided an arrest for... stuff. France could never understand why some people were so shy about _amour_. He tutted, they must be so depraved.

Spotting his old acquaintance, enemy, friend, rival, business partner, partner, etc, he makes his way towards the lone table and figure that positively screams _pathetic_. However, when he arrives he's not prepared for the scared and shocked and _sad_green eyes that frantically look around, completely missing France.

"_Angleterre_?" He asks, "What are you looking for?"

"He was here! I swear France! He was here, he could still be here! We got to look for him!" England tried to get up but fell into a mess of beer and glass shards, cutting up his hands. He didn't seem to notice the shards digging into his hands. France, on the other hand, winced.

"England, stop moving, who was here?"

"Him! He should have died years ago! We- we-" He was using his hands to motion and making the glass dig deeper into his hand and dripping the blood everywhere. He still didn't seem to notice that he was injured.

"Stop moving, Arthur!" Who was here? Stay still, I got to get the glass out," France tried to restrain the thrashing man.

A pair of deep green and scared eyes looked at him.

"I saw him, Francis, he's here."

"Who?"

"America."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"You're drunk, Arthur. America's been dead for fifty years starting the Fourth."

* * *

Sky blue eyes watched the two countries from a hiding spot in plain sight.

_And Alfred's been dead for longer._

* * *

**Thank you for all the reviews, favs, and follows. I'm so happy every time!  
**

**Please review.**


	4. Interlude 1

Interlude

Canada sat at his desk, poring over his papers. He's had so much more work ever since becoming the superpower and gaining land. The size of his country now rivaled that of Russia's. They haven't been getting along all that well for the last fifty years. So much has changed in the last fifty years, most, he supposed, was for the better.

Of course, the first couple years were hard. After Alf- America died, people were looking for a scapegoat for all their troubles. So, of course, they turned to this new super power that they didn't seem to remember. They tried to pin their blame and hardships on him. However, Matthew prided himself on his patience. And by that he meant his passive aggressiveness. He wasn't mean, he'd never be cruel. But the world had to learn that they could never mess with Matthew Williams the way that they messed with Alf- his brother.

His long gone brother…

The best thing that changed for him was that he was noticed now. And it didn't stop at being noticed. He was honored, admired, praised, and even feared. People looked up to him, as they should, because they had no choice. He was, by far, the strongest country in the world. What he wanted, he got.

When America was dissolved Canada took all the land except for most of Texas, Mexico took that. The country had been a mess, but Matthew managed to build it back up to all its former glory and more.

However, as he built and rebuilt he realized that he was changing his newly acquired land and people. His brother's land and people… The thought disturbed him as he couldn't figure out whether that made him happy or upset. All he knew was that he wasn't indifferent to it.

So, as he changed the land, he also changed the names of the cities and states and so forth. Anything he could so that he wouldn't be reminded of the cheerful young man with brilliant blue eyes that used to own them.

Matthew also couldn't hate his brother, even if his brother had been naïve, brash, provocative, inconsiderate, conceited, and ignorant among many other things, he really was a good person on the inside. He always wanted to help people and was kind hearted and did care for those close to him. However, his utter cluelessness was just so _frustrating_.

Matthew wasn't entirely sure if he missed his brother, though. Sure they used hang out together more often than Matthew with others. But that was because America was one of the only people who could remember him long enough to. And even he forgot often.

Canada sighed, scratching his head. He didn't know why he was thinking about his long deceased brother so much lately. Maybe it was because he was holding a World Meeting in his old capital during the week of the Fourth of July, his brother's birthday and the day he died. Oh. Right.

He's been suppressing memories of his brother or anything related to him for quite a while now, but he might as well face them, if only for tonight.

The violet eyed nation knew that Japan still thought about his brother. Even if Kiku never talked about him, Canada doesn't miss the way he would sometimes stifle a sigh when looking at horror movies or never comment on how Matthew changed all the major cities. And sometimes, when asked for opinion, he'd start off with a 'I agree with-' then cut himself off and give another answer.

Lithuania also seemed to miss America as well. Once Matthew remembered Toris asking if he could drive around and see what's changed. Canada had given his permission and asked if he wanted Matthew to show him around. Toris had said no and then got worried about how that may have offended the superpower and that he meant no disrespect whatsoever and that Canada could guide him if that was what he wanted because Toris really didn't mind and- Canada had stopped him, knowing that the brown haired nation missed his brother. The next day he found flowers in front of the remains of his brother's house.

Canada also knew that England missed America, even if he'd never say it. Matthew only knew because he was the only one there the one time after England got drunk after the death of Al- America. England had been very careful of his alcohol intake since, and Canada learned why.

_"-Then he left me the second, the git!"_

_Matthew looked up at this, surprised._

_"You, you mean Alfred?" He said softly._

_Arthur slammed his fist down on the table, then held it after he seemingly injured himself, "Yes I mean Alfred, you wanker! He- he just had to go and die…"_

_Arthur's bodies began to wrack with sobs and Matthew looked away, not wanting to see the man so upset and… not wanting to talk about his brother. He couldn't sort out his feelings and didn't want to any time soon._

_"I- I miss him…" Arthur trailed off and then knocked out completely, drunk._

_Matthew looked at his prone body. He didn't say a word._

Knocking his head on his desk, the nation groaned. He was never going to get any work done if kept on thinking about his brother. And he really didn't want to sort out his feelings for his death, either. He wasn't sure if he ever would.

"Mr. Williams?" A soft voice cut into his thoughts.

Canada looked up to see his new assistant, Peter Adams, standing in the doorway, holding some papers in one hand and a coffee in the other.

"Please come in, Peter. Thank you."

"My pleasure, Mr. Williams, do you need anything else?" Peter put down the items.

"No, it's fine, you may leave."

"Yes sir."

With that the black haired man left. Canada looked to the door for a moment, wondering. Then he shook his head and cast out his thoughts. They were nothing alike.

But for some reason Canada thought he could see his brother in Peter's brown eyes.

* * *

**This was just written over the last two hours for a request by Lady Cooper who wanted to see a Canada appearance. Since I made this out of nowhere it wasn't checked over except for spell-check, so I'm sorry for any errors. I've noticed that I'm missing disclaimers.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

**Also, lately I've been ecstatic over a beautiful review by Devin Trinidad and that one of my favorite authors has favorited me. If you want to know if it's you look at my favorites.**

**One more thing, I have all my chapters up to chapter 7 written. It's just that while chapter 4 and 6 are a decent 1,500 about length chapter 5 is barely over 500 words. It wouldn't be fair just to make you wait for it. So I'm wondering if you rather have me update chapter 5 early with chapter 4 or later with chapter 6. Your choice.**

**Please review and re-review. I love them all and each one makes me so happy!**


	5. Chapter 4

**I do not own Hetalia**

* * *

Chapter 4 (The date for the story right now is June 29th, XXXX. Five days before the Fourth of July)

"Thank you, Peter, you may leave."

With that Canada dismisses the man named Peter. The man nods and does as told, striding towards the doors.

The man walks down the mirrored walls, escaping the man he was kin to before in another body. Another person. Another lifetime.

As he walks he passes a young man with shoulder length brown hair and green eyes and a nervous demeanor.

Lithuania.

The man pauses, briefly remembering that he was one of the only countries who didn't want his disso-

He shook slightly. Remembering always hurts and hurts and hurts so bad.

"Mister? Are you alright?" The voice of the male nation approaches. Green eyes look at him curiously and concerned.

"Y-yes, thank you. Just tired, that's all."

"Okay then, please get a good night's sleep," He said.

"I will, thank you."

He walks off and doesn't turn back.

Lithuania looks at him though, concerned. He wonders why his eyes had been blue for a split-second.

A brilliant oh-so-familiar blue.

/

Peter Adams runs into the apartment and throws himself onto the bed. He was so angry with himself. He had seen. Seen his eyes change from blue to brown. He was stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

He couldn't come back in as Peter Adams anymore. He wasn't even sure if he should come to the meeting at all. But he had to see them again. He was so lonely. Is still so lonely. Has been so lonely. He hasn't had a friend in such a long time.

And when he saw him, he remembered. Remembered a memory from a different person, from a different life. A life as a personification of a lost country.

_I don't want to remember. It hurts so much._

But he wanted to be strong, and facing the past takes strength.

_It's not my past anymore, it was the past of a man, a personification long dead._

Yet he knows that that was him. Him all those years ago as it was now.

_I don't want to. Time has passed since then._

Yet the wounds never healed for him. They just tore open every time he tried to forget.

_I'll forget it, someday. I don't why I'm here, bringing up old scars._

Is he weak?

_No! I'm not weak; I'm just as strong as the next man!_

But he can't face his past.

_Th- That's-_

Would a hero do that?

_No._

Isn't he a hero?

_I'm not a hero. I can't remember if I ever was one._

And he lies on his back, facing the ceiling.

And remembers.

/

It's been nearly fifty years since the United States of America was dissolved. In some cruel twist of fate, or the plan of some sadistic or ironic person, it was dissolved on July 4. Independence Day. The man smiled a twisted smile, that had been a real blow.

The economy had been failing and people were arguing and there was never a moment of peace and the hating- the HATING!

Everyone hated him.

The personifications hated him and would insult him to his back and face and do everything to make his life miserable, and- and... HATED him.

Then there were the humans from other countries. They hated him and his people wished that they would all drop dead or die terrible deaths or at least just disappear from the world and hated, hated, hated!

Then there were his own people. His own beloved people, his children. The very ones that he worked so hard for to be independent and proud and happy and _free_! They hated him too. They hated his country, _their _country.

When asked where they come from they would always say their _ethnicity_ first. _Chinese, British, German, Italian, French, Japanese, Spanish, Irish, Indian_- The list went on and on and on and they will rarely say _American_ first, or sometimes not even at all. Because they were ashamed. Ashamed of all the hard work that he did to keep them free and happy and-

That's enough there.

With the economy failing there was political unrest, of course, and it almost looked like the Civil War all over again. States wanting to secede and others wanting to 'keep them in the Union', which had become a cover up for trying to take over other land.

It was sickening.

Not to mention all the assassinations and 'tragic accidents.' Like the one where the president was killed on live television while trying to calm the people. Or when an encouraging show was played live at a school and it was set fire and those inside burned to death. Or- The list could go on and on and on.

Long story short, his nation had been a disgrace and a mess and a war zone.

And he had to be happy an cheerful and oblivious through out his entire fall. All because of one promise he made to his only truly lov-

The man buried his face in a pillow. He promised himself never to think of them again. Even if the alternative was thinking about his death.

He had tried to get other countries to help him. After all, England would have, wouldn't he? With that special relation and all between the two of them. No, England had sat back and shook his head and -_as he laughed- _told him that he had it coming to him.

Well then, there was always Japan, right? Japan and he had been close, and Kiku and Al- Alf- _his past self_had been even closer. Japan hadn't even seemed to remember their old friendship as he avoided him in the buildings and ignored the increasingly frantic texts and phone calls and answered every question when confronted with a single curt word.

So that left Canada, his brother by blood and land. Covered in the blood of his citizens and tears of his own he had asked, no, begged Canada- no- _Matthew _to help him.

He had gotten a cold smile and unreadable eyes.

_"I'll help you, America. But in my way."_

And indeed he did. Less than a fortnight later Canadian troops invaded what was left of America. It was quick and efficient and his people would _willingly_ surrender to them and even _fight _those who tried to save America.

It hurt and hurt and _hurt_.

But the scariest part was when he realized that he was feeling less and less and _less_.

As America, the country, broke apart.

_-The blood would flow down him and as he looked at his hands he couldn't remember if there were five digits or was it four or maybe three. And his long since shattered glasses only serving to mangle his hands even more but he wouldn't stop holding them because-_

In a matter of months Canada, his beloved brother, had taken over all of the United States. The man grimaced. Well, almost all of it. Mexico had taken Texas. And _who_ could have seen _that _coming?

So he felt less and less as more and more people stopped calling themselves American and named themselves after his brother.

A little over a year after Canada first invaded the talk of dissolving the United States of America started.

That wasn't right.

A little over a _week _after Canada first invaded, the talk of dissolving the United States of America started.

It was a little over a year when they actually dissolved America.

That was too easy to remember.

* * *

**Today is 9/11. A time of remembrance in the country of the USA. I watched a video of this in history class and I was not only heart broken over the amount of lives lost in that attack but angry that people will do such a thing. However, I'm ashamed to feeling amused when I heard that the attack was to dampen our spirits. It just made them stronger, albeit in a horrid way.**

**I am not happy with this chapter as it is a filler. I will post chapter five on Thursday and chapter 6 sometime over the weekend. Also, many thanks to all my reviewers, especially Devin Trinidad and Gibbelbeans3.**

**Please review as it warms my heart. By the way, would anyone be interested in a fic with a multi-personalitied Alferd? No promises though.  
**


	6. Chapter 5

**Do not get your hopes up. This chapter is short.**

* * *

Chapter 5

_"Alfred."_

_The youth looked up from the cell he had been in for... Some time now. He lost count a while ago. His blond hair was brown with dirt and grime and lacked a familiar stubborn lock. His glasses now held, crushed, in one of his hands. The glass shards had dug into him and torn the skin, leaving a raw, bloody mess of a palm. His normally blue eyes were dull and haggard. Nobody would ever attribute this fate to the once self-proclaimed hero._

_The man who had came in was changed in appearance too. His expression had changed from unsure to cold. Violet eyes were no longer meek but assertive, maybe even aggressive. The violet eyes had a steely glint, even if they weren't unkind._

_Canada._

_His beloved brother._

_His overshadowed, neglected, forgotten, always-mistaken-for-him brother. As Canada had reminded him on the day of his capture._

_"You're being dissolved as of tomorrow," There was not a trace of compassion in Canada's face. He keeps it carefully blank. Just as blank as his voice._

_America doesn't say anything. He hasn't since he was found, nearly dead, in the burned down building of the White House. It couldn't even be called a capture, really. More like a rescuing in all actuality._

_"4 o'clock P.M."_

_"July 4__th__."_

_Canada refocused on his brother, surprised. The voice was hoarse from lack of use, but it really was his brother speaking. _

_Canada doesn't back down from the stare, but it was more like a gaze, "Indeed."_

_"Fate likes to toy with me."_

_"Or maybe you like to toy with fate."_

_There was a silence._

_"Maybe."_

_Another silence._

_"I will take good care of your people."_

_"Make sure Mexico does as well."_

_"I will."_

_This silence stretches even longer than the ones preceding it._

_And they weren't cold silences. They were the silences between two people who were always knew everything about one another until something happened and they knew nothing about each other._

_Between two people who were always there for each other until one they one fell and the other watched._

_In short, an uncomfortable silence._

_To put it lightly. _

_Canada speaks up, "So this is farewell."_

I'll miss you, brother.

_"I suppose."_

Will you miss me?

_"Then goodbye."_

I hope so.

_"Farewell."_

Please don't leave me.

_America walks to the door of the cell. Canada hesitated then moved away from it. As his dying brother leaves the room the still living one reaches out and holds him back for a moment._

I'm already so alone.

_"Where are you going?"_

I've been alone for so long.

_"Home."_

Can't you see that I was alone?

_America walked out the door. He knew that Canada wouldn't stop him. He was going to die tomorrow, anyway. And, in all truth, Canada hadn't wanted to hurt him. But he had to do what was best for the people. Even if that did mean hurting him. He was a nation, after all._

I've been in my own personal hell.

_Behind him, almost too quiet to be heard, the words are spoken._

Please save me!

_"Goodbye, Alfred."_

But I'm long dead.

* * *

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**Wow, some of you are really hating Canada in this fic. I never meant for him to be seen as evil. Let me explain, in my headcannon (is that one 'N' or two?) personifications have two sides to them. **

**One is their human side, like Alfred or Matthew. For the most part their human side acts, well, human. They can be mean or nice, cheerful or depressing, anything really. Human sides don't even have to always be affected by the stereotypes. However, the human side is their weaker side. **

**The dominant side of them is their nation side. Nations are the people and the people are them. By that I mean that nations have just as much control over their people as the people have control over the nations. It's hard to explain but I'll try. If a nation is angry at another nation they could drive their people to begin fighting. If the people are angry at other people, they can drive the nations to begin fighting one another. Sort of like that.**

**Canada was being driven by the will of his people to hate America while Matthew still cares for Alfred, but is being held back by his nation side. Therefore, it's Canada who's being a (please forgive my language) a jerk to America and Matthew who's seriously missing Alfred.**

**Next chapter out Sunday. I have hit a writer's block so after chapter 7 things are going to slow down.**


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_America was now in his house. The big, old wooden house held many memories for him._

_Like his colonial days with England._

_And his friendship with Lithuania._

_The young looking man shook his head. Memories would do no good for him now. Not that they have ever been._

12:00 P.M.

_If he was going to die, he might as well be comfortable. So he walks to the very back of his house. The one room that nobody ever saw, or even knew existed._

_It was a large, circular room. The walls were a solid, pure, but not blinding white. Stationed around the room in regular intervals are urns, each with a different design. Designs that had meant so much to the spirits whose' remains rested in the urns._

_There were fifty of them._

_Beautiful painted portraits were above each of the urns. Bronze plates are beneath the portraits. Each holds a name, a date, and a…_

_State._

_Knowing that this would be the last time to mourn them he walked to the end of the line. Looking at each portrait he individually mutters words of love, and joy, and hurt, and sorrow, and farewell, and _apology_._

_Near the end of the line, in front of the portrait of a tan skinned and dark haired and eyed color man who's plaque reads _'Peter Adams. June 1st, 1796. Tennessee.'_ he paced backwards a few steps to face the entire room. _

2:00 P.M.

_America wondered aloud in the silent room._

_"Is there an afterlife for nations? Do you know?"_

_His words echoed around the circular room._

_"If there is, I bet I'll go to Hell."_

_Only the painted eyes watched him and painted ears listened._

_"Wouldn't all nations go to Hell?"_

_The smiles on the portraits seemed to answer him._

_"Did you?"_

_No reply._

_"Do you even exist anymore?"_

_Because he didn't want to be lonely anymore._

_"Or did I take that from you all as well?"_

_This was what scared him the most._

_"I'm so sorry."_

_America had met each of his states before they truly became states. And all thirteen of the original colonies. And not just as America the country, but as Alfred F. Jones. The person._

_"To all of you."_

_And he had loved them all so very much. They were his friends, his children, the people he fought for. His beloved states. But he made a mistake, one that would destroy their lives._

_"That you had to die."_

_He called himself the United States of America. United, as in one whole. A single country. So that meant a single body. And a single person. So once they became a state. They died._

_"So I could live."_

_And each time they died, he, Alfred F. Jones, died a little more on the inside. Because if they became part of him, then they may never see the afterlife. They'll fade out of existence forever or, worse, be trapped in a perpetual state of non-being._

_"I love you all, so, so much."_

_Because felt so guilty and grief-struck._

_He turns back to the urn and portrait of Peter Adams and whispers more heartfelt, tender words before turning to the next portrait._

"Elizabeth Norris. June 25th, 1788. Virginia."

_The lady in the portrait was in her late twenties. She had golden hair which was braided down her back and a fair complexion. Beautiful painted green eyes gazed at America. They were just like her eyes while she was alive but, well, painted. They were green, not like the emerald and forest green that England had, but like the green of the soft grass that was outside of his house. America sighed and touched the painting fondly. Unlike many of countries' provinces, regions, etcetera, or even many of his own states, Virginia played a parental figure in his life. To specify, the maternal figure._

_England was hardly ever around during America's childhood. It was a near miracle that they had such a good relationship. He would visit for such short amounts of time and leave for even longer times. Sometimes years would pass before he visited again. America never blamed him, he was the British Empire after all, he had many other colonies and territories, even if America did get the feeling that he was favored._

_Still, America was lonely in all those times waiting for England to come back. Then he found the personifications of the colonies. _

_After the awkwardness of having the personification of the colonies meet the personifications of the individual colonies wore off he made good friends with them. For some strange reason they were all looked older then he did. So he looked up to them as guardians of a sort and they looked at him as a favored nephew or brother. While Elizabeth, or Lizzy as he called her, the personification of Virginia looked to him as her child; James, New York, was like an older brother. They shared last names. And Sarah, the pretty representative of Rhode Island, was like a sister to him. He and James always teased her about her short stature. And there was Phoebe from Pennsylvania, and then Georgia from, well Georgia, and Henry from Maryland. Henry always hated the name of his colony. And everyone else…_

_He loved them so much…_

_The Revolutionary War was a real bonder for all of them. They supported him as he fought against his own often absent caretaker and guardian, even though it hurt him. And it hurt him so much, especially with a third of his citizens, and by default himself as well, wanting to stay with England. But he got through it because his colonies, now states, were with him and supporting him and helping him and holding him in the middle of the night as he bawled his eyes out._

_They were his friends._

_After the Treaty of Paris, 1783 it was Carol and Lianna, North and South Carolina, who calmed his shaking nerves; James, Henry, and Roger, who was Connecticut, who partied with him all night; Chris, New Hampshire, who carried his drunken form back to the house; Phoebe and Alice (Delaware) who washed and put him to sleep; Verity (New Jersey) and Isaac (Massachusetts) who dealt with his hangover; and Elizabeth who rocked him to sleep while he cried about England._

_They were his family._

_They stayed with him during the chaos of the Articles of Confederation and helped him create the Constitution. Then, the day after the Constitution was made they all gathered at his house, presumably to congratulate him. And they did, James and Henry had clapped him on the back; Roger, Chris, and Isaac had playfully punched him on the arm; Phoebe and Alice both kissed him on the cheek and suffocated him in a tight hug along with Carol and Lianna; and Virginia… Virginia held him close and, with tears running down her cheeks, told him how _'absolutely proud that her little boy had come so far.'_ As she hugged him and he hugged her back, he had noticed that her body was becoming steadily warmer and warmer. He had drawn back from the hug to look at her and was completely surprised when he saw that she was glowing, literally glowing. As was all the others._

_They were his victims._

_Virginia had looked at him with pride and sorrow. She had answered his frantic cries and questions saying that this was inevitable. That since he was the United States of America they couldn't be separate from him. Because- _

"We're part of you, Alfred. We've always been, we'll always be."

_Because he killed them._

_And despite his wails and sobs they grew brighter and brighter and brighter, nearly blinding him. He could see James grinning at him one last time and Carol and Lianna hugging each other and smiling at him through their tears and the ever-so-stoic Chris had a tear running down his face and- Virginia._

_It wasn't that he loved her more or cared for her more than everybody else. It was because she was his mother figure and that she always more or less stood for everyone else and the simple fact that she was right in front of him that made him run forward and death grip her in a hug even though it was futile. Because she burned and burned brighter and brighter beneath him._

"Be happy, for our sake, okay Alfie?"

_And then she was gone. Ashes at his feet._

_Because they were him._

3:00 P.M.

_America shook his head, he had to give final words to the rest of them before memories over took him. It was hard because each portrait reminded him of a dear, close person, and their sad story._

_Like Jesse, the little boy he held in his arms as he bled and bled from all the unrest in his Kansas. Or Jerome, the rebellious teen who became the state of Texas. Or maybe Rebecca, the beautiful golden girl from California._

3:30 P.M.

_He was done. America walked to the center of the room and looked at the floor. On it, barely seen on the pure white floor, was engraved the name-_

Alfred F. Jones

_America knelt and touched it, tracing his mangled fingers along the letters._

_"When did you die?"_

_He smiled slightly._

_"I miss you…"_

_The brilliant blue eyes watered slightly._

_"You always wanted to be a hero."_

_The same blue eyes hardened._

_"But when were you ever truly one?"_

_He lifted his hand from the carved name._

_"You never saved me…"_

_Alfred… He had died long before America would be dissolved. When exactly he left this world, America would never know._

_Alfred had begun dying when his beloved thirteen states had burned away in front of him. And he had gone to his own, personal hell the day after. When he had woken up from his restless sleep, with tear tracks still on his face and groggily faced the mirror._

_And had seen Virginia._

_He had screamed and tried to grab the reflection, only to find that that was what it was. A reflection. That her green eyes that were filling with tears were really his. That her rosy lips were mimicking the same exact words he was screaming. And when he looked at his hands, they weren't his, they were hers. He was trapped in the body of Virginia._

_And the day after that was James._

_Then Henry._

_Then Carol._

_Then…_

_It was his Hell._

_And the same thing happened every time he gained a state. He would become them._

_He was fifty-two different people, including Alfred and America._

_Leading fifty-two different lives._

_Having fifty-two different faces._

_Living fifty-two different nightmares._

_And maybe, when he died, he'd finally escape from his Hell.  
_

4:00 P.M.

* * *

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**I am so sorry that my writing has gone downhill but I have reached writers block so please don't kill me just yet. Or ever, really. I do enjoy living.**

**By the way, this story will NOT have a happy ending, there will be a reunion, but not a happy ever after ending because those always seem sappy, especially when I write them. And I seem to have a knack for misery and angst if I do say so myself. Really should stop reading Lemony Snicket...**

**I am also sorry for publishing this so late, there were some unseen events to my day.**

**Shout out to Devin Trinidad who I've hinted my theory about America's states, I hope I satisfied your curiosity.**

**Please review, and if you can please leave some suggestions for where this story should head. Once again, I already have the ending planned out but I need some advice getting there.**


	8. Drabble Death

Drabble: Death

_The house burned and burned around him. Who would have known that a nation's true house was connected to the nation itself? No wonder it had been falling apart during the last few years… Or was it decades?_

_As the fire crept closer and closer to him he wondered if he wanted to run out of the house and _live_. For some reason he felt as if he would make it…_

_But he stayed in the house, feeling the blistering heat reminding him how it was America who was burning down, dissolving. And it made him wonder, if Alfred was already dead and America was dissolved… What did that make him? Maybe Prussia would know…_

_Excruciating heat shook him out of his thoughts, he noticed, with a very disorienting calmness, that he had caught fire. And it hurt more than it used to. He fire crawled up him and burned into his skin, searing and blistering and-_

_He was going to die._

_Not like that strange darkness a nation fell into when their human body was 'killed.' Actually die, go into the unknown and never come back._

_It was strangely comforting._

_He took one last look at the room around him, feeling a slight pang as he saw the beautiful portraits of his beloved states being eaten away by the insatiable flames._

_"Goodbye Virginia, goodbye everyone."_

_Blackness._

* * *

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**This is a drabble, it was supposed to go with the next chapter but I felt like it didn't work. Also, about the flashing blue eyes thing, it is actually something to do with this RP I'm doing with my friend. I'll see if I can publish it if she lets me. And if she doesn't I have a back up reason.**

**Next update is on Saturday.**


	9. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Freedom.

Pure, unadulterated freedom.

He walked, or was in floated, or moved, in the expanse of space. He wasn't sure if he could ever define the color of the space.

It was more like dreaming than anything else, really.

As he walked he saw the space morph into something else, something more familiar. It was a great grass field, like, one of those beautiful fields of grass that are only in sappy romance movies and equally sappy books. As he walked he noticed that there was a road beneath him, slightly elevated in the middle. Deciding to follow, he dreamily watched the beautiful surroundings, heard the soothing noises, and let his fingers feel the tall grasses that caressed the tips as he passed.

A figure appeared in the distance, as he drew closer he saw a red cape and old armor, one that hasn't been used in centuries.

A small smile touched his lips. It was true, all roads did lead to-

"Rome? Roman Empire?" He asked.

The handsome brunette spun around to face him. A charming grin crossed his face as Rome engulfed the blond in a smile.

"Alfred! I haven't seen you in so long! How's my favorite student doing, boy?" Rome laughed, tussling America's hair the way he used to when he taught him all those years ago.

"Wasn't I your only student? And I'm very dead, thank you very much," America responded, trying to get out of the headlock.

"Yeah, we have to talk about that…" Rome trailed off, suddenly looking unsure.

"What do you mean?"

"Have a seat first, boy."

The scene around them changed to a room. It was rounded room of the Roman Senate, when it existed. Rome sat on one of the chairs and gestured for America to sit as well.

"What do you mean 'we have to talk about that' Rome?" Alfred asked, sitting down.

"It's… Complicated. It's one of the reasons I was sent to see you."

"You're not making any sense. And where is Virginia and my states? Can I see them soon? So do us nations have a Heaven or Hell? Is this one of them? And-"

"Stop with the questions! How am I supposed to answer one if you bombard me with a million others?"

"I'm sorry. But-"

"Wait, I will explain some things first, then, _after_ I'm done, you can ask me stuff, okay, kid?"

"Okay."

Rome nodded approvingly and took a deep breath before continuing, "There are several things that could happen to a personification after the nation they stand for crumbles away. Or sometimes even while they are declining. The first, which is what happened to you and me, is that they become fully human and will age and can die. There is an ex-nation, I cannot remember his name right now, who is currently doing this somewhere in Japan."

"But why-"

"What did I say about questions?" Rome looked at America, then sighed, "Don't look at me like that, Alfred… You know what I told you about the puppy e- Oh, you're so cute!"

A brief tackle hug war happened afterwards. After they both managed to regain some dignity they sat down again and Rome continued.

"You died because you were still the house while it was burning. A nation's first house is actually connected to the nation itself, why do you think they stay around so long?

"Another thing that could happen to a nation is that they could choose to stay immortal. Don't say anything, I'm coming to it! You, and all the others, know Prussia, correct? He had chosen to stay immortal after death, you had that choice too, remember?"

_As the fire crept closer and closer to him he wondered if he wanted to run out of the house and _live_. For some reason he felt as if he would make it…_

"Yeah."

"However, most nations choose to die, we fear that we may be forever stuck in that world. That we may never know of what is beyond. So, obviously, you don't see many dead nations still running around.

"One more thing that could happen, when a country is completely conquered, hurt, or fallen to the point of no return, they can be killed and choose to stay dead. The ways how and reasons why are shaky. But it's happened before… to my dear Greece…

"The final thing that could happen, that I know of, is that a nation can be sent back into the human world. DON'T SAY ANYTHING!"

"I WASN'T GONNA!"

"GOOD! Okay, a nation could be sent back into the human world if they left something unfulfilled. The funny thing is that it's only if they were missing something in their _human_ side, not their nation side. This has only happened once before, so the theory is as shaky as the theory on staying immortal. And you should know about this beca-"

"Who was the person who wa-?"

"What did I say abou-"

"I don't care I-"

"Just let me-"

"I'M ASKING QUESTIONS NOW AND THAT'S FINAL!"

The teacher and the ex-pupil stared at each other.

…

"Fine, carry on."

"Who was the nation who was sent back?"

"If I tell you, you can't tell anyone."

"I'm dead, who could I tell?"

For some reason Rome looked uncomfortable again, it passed quickly though, "The personification who was sent back was called Holy Roman Empire."

America snorted, 'You must have liked that name. But I didn't know anybody named that. Did he die again?"

"No, I believe he was reincarnated, as whom, I'm not sure."

"Okay then, whatevs, when can I see Virginia and the others?"

"Alfred…" Rome looked uncomfortable, though he seemed more sad than anything else, "Look, it's going to be hard to-"

"I was right, wasn't I?" America cut him off.

"…What?"

America stood up, starting to cry and looking defiant, "I was right, wasn't I! I killed them! I kept them from ever reaching the afterlife! Or even actually living!"

"No, Alfred, look-"

"Don't tell me to 'look!' They never made it to the afterlife, did they?" He nearly screamed.

"I…"

"Answer me!"

Rome looked away from him, "No, we never found them…"

He looked back just in time to see Alfred look at him with utterly desolate eyes before collapsing into hysterics. Rome caught him and held him to his perfect body, much like a mother would to a small child. He rocked Alfred back and forth like he saw Virginia do during the Revolutionary War and how he did when he comforted the crying nation, all those years ago, trapped in the body of James, one of his states.

"Explain."

The voice startled Rome, who looked down to see Alfred's puffy red eyes staring back at him.

"What?"

"Explain what ha-happened to them. W-why I can wake up and be in their bodies with… with their personalities."

"I… I don't know for sure, kiddo."

"W- what do you th-think?"

He stroked a hand through the blond hair, "I think that when they died their souls merged with yours. Making yours… unstable…"

America spoke in a clearer voice, "So, they're trapped in me?"

"Maybe."

"Why do these things always happen to me?"

Rome looked confused for the first time, "What? This has happened before?"

"No, it's just that I always seem to be different. I don't think that I could say that anybody ever understood me and I've always been apart from everyone else. And things always happen to me that don't happen to anyone else… They call me strange because of it… Like when I talked to Ameriwhale and made friends with Tony."

Rome smiled, "It's because you're different. And that's not a bad thing."

"If it isn't a bad thing, then why are my states, the only ones who ever really loved me, gone because of me?"

"I don't know, Alfred, I don't know," Rome sighed as America buried his face in his shoulder. The young nation, despite how he had acted, was a fragile and emotional being. In fact, if it hadn't been for the spirits of his states having him lead different lives every other day, Rome was sure that he would have broken completely a long time ago. Then again, it was the loss of those states that broke him so much.

He knew that Alfred always blamed the death of his states on himself, so knowing that it could be him that was trapping them in limbo, preventing them ever from leaving to the afterlife was beyond unbearable for him. And, in all truth, Rome didn't know if it wasn't his fault…

Rome grimaced, he had more to tell the blond, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

"Alfred…"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry, but there's still something that I have to tell you."

"What is it?"

"You… you're going to be sent back…"

"…What?"

"You're going to be sent back to the human world, something is missing in you."

The effect was instantaneous. America sprang to his feet, hitting Rome's jaw with his head as he go up. He looked incredibly upset and… angry.

"No, no! You- you can't send me back! I-I- do you know what it was like for me there? It was Hell! Do you really want to send me to my own Hell?"

"It's not my choice, I would have you stay here with me if I could."

"No, oh God please no…" Alfred sank to his knees, burying his face in his hands, "I can't go back, it hurts so much. Everyone hates me there… Do you know what it's like to have people hate you after you try and try and try so freaking hard to _help_ them? To have to put a smile on your face that cracks every time they insult you to your face and keep it from shattering each time you remember that they honestly believe to their core that you're the root of their problems and misery? I can't go back there! I- I-"

Rome just looked sadly at him, "I'm so sorry."

The world they were in seemed to be getting cloudy, fogged, hazed with that indescribable color.

"No- no! Please-"

His screams were silenced by the blackness once more.

/

Please don't leave me alone…

/

_His eyes were closed, if he opened them he might not be in that happy place with Rome anymore. He was flat on his back, the sun shone on his unburned face._

_He must be in that field again with Rome that could be it. That had to be it._

_A hand touched his shoulder._

_Rome, must be Rome._

_He opens his eyes._

_Please be Rome…_

_Red eyes stare back from a silver body._

_Tony._

_Around them is the remains of a burned house._

_No…_

_No…_

_Damn it, no!_

_He was sent back._

_To his Hell._

* * *

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**Okay, my faithful followers- Does anyone get reminded of Lord Voldemort whenever you say follower? Please tell me that I'm not the only one- and newcomers, I have a request for all of you guys. I am trying to get to 100 reviews before this month gives out. Maybe I'll give a double update if I get it, I don't know. There will be no changes to the schedule if I don't, but it really would be nice. So help me pretty please with a double update on top? Or cherries, I like cherries.  
**

**Also, just for reference I am, was, and will always be a 'She.' You know, just saying.  
**

**I'm not too happy with this chapter, but I like Grandpa Rome and since America's senate and republic and stuff is pretty similar to Ancient Rome's, or so I'm told, I like to think that Rome gave him a visit or two while he was starting out.  
**

**And, two more things, do you remember that roleplay I was talking about, the one I had to ask my friend for permission to publish? Well, she said yes, so I'll do a shameless advertisement and say that it is called Call Us Idiots, Will You? featuring America and Italy. Also, I ended up writing the fic featuring an America with multiple personalities and it is called, please excuse this advertisement, A Game of Dice.  
**

**Please, please, please review, I would really like to reach 100.  
**


	10. Interlude 2 Tony

Interlude 2 Tony

Tony held his Earthling friend in his arms.

Right now that friend was in the body of a young woman.

He could remember long ago how his friend Alfred would tell him the stories of all his beloved states, their names, and what they were to him.

Since Alfred was kin to Tony and Tony had expert memory, he remembered every single one of the fifty people. But this particular state was special to him as he had seen her before.

A little known fact is that Tony had managed to accidentally activate a worm hole in the fabric of Earth's space-time continuum (explaining how each large enough object in the paradox that humans like to call space has its own rules of theory and etcetera will take way too long to explain) and had managed to time travel himself into the early 1900s. He had met during the time loops Arizona, Alaska, Hawaii, New Mexico, and Oklahoma. He had only seen Alaska and New Mexico die, though, and those were by accident. Tony considered their deaths to be too personal to his friend to intrude.

Alaska, who his friend was right now, was a pretty woman. She had the body of a 19 year old; Alfred had considered her a sister. Her name had been Samantha Vanpool.

Even though Tony knew that Alfred loved her very much, Alfred had once told him that he had a hard time looking directly at her. He said it was because she looked too much like his brother and 'that commie.'

Indeed, she had the silver hair of 'that commie bastard,' but it was soft and silky like the northern brother. Her eyes were a violet color and she had an abnormally tall yet slender frame. Tony felt what humans could liken to amusement as he remembered when he gave the young woman a scarf and a hockey stick for one Christmas. The look on Alfred's face had been priceless.

Now when Tony thought about it, it had been one of the few times that he had ever truly seen his friend Alfred. Most of the time Tony would either see the fake persona that his friend had created to hide his various other personalities from the other nations or he would see the states or a hollow, empty shell.

Tony could remember vividly how his friend would always change form, mind, and identity during the time Tony had lived with him. After some observation and notes, he found that his friend was carrying a staggering amount of souls within his own, most of which were half merged with his own. After many visits and trips to the Inter-Galactic Library of Various Life Forms and talking with several professors on the theory of souls, he found that Alfred's case, though extremely rare, was not unique. It was recorded to have happened before in several species. The only same factor, though, was that all of the lost souls had loved or were in love with the soul that over took him. In each case the latter would become unstable.

However, no matter how much Tony researched, he could find no cure to his friend's or friends' problem. So he made nice with each one of the states' personalities and hoped that Alfred was still there. Tony often worried about Alfred, he could see that his friend was fading away, leaving behind the farce and a body. Many times he would see America and talk and talk and talk to him but never actually get through to Alfred.

Tony had been afraid that Alfred was dead even if before his dissolution.

Through more intense researching, Tony had come to the conclusions that personifications have two sides to them.

One is their human side, like Alfred or Matthew. For the most part their human side acts, well, human. They can be mean or nice, cheerful or depressing, anything really. Human sides don't even have to always be affected by the stereotypes. However, the human side is their weaker side. Alfred was his friend's human side.

The dominant side of them is their nation side. In this case, America. Nations are the people and the people are them. So it meant that nations had just as much control over their people as the people have control over the nations. It was a very complicated matter, even for one as intelligent and well informed as Tony. If a nation is angry at another nation they could drive their people to begin fighting. If the people are angry at other people, they can drive the nations to begin fighting one another. That was a crudely simplified model of the interworking or personifications.

To complicate matters further, the human and nation side can often influence each other, which lead to a even more bizarre puzzle.

* * *

_One day Tony had to leave America (because he wasn't, couldn't be Alfred) to carry out a mission for his superiors. Tony didn't want to leave his friend in such a bad state (no pun intended) as he was going through another severe depression (in both his country and human side). But it wasn't Tony's choice and he had to leave anyway._

_The mission was far more complicated than anyone suspected and it was many Earth revolutions around the Prime Arcrimdus Minimus Sector E6637 star before Tony was able to come back to see his friend. He got there on the day of his dissolution._

_It really didn't take long to figure out what happened. Tony had rushed to the house of his fiend's, but he was too late. _

_4:27 P.M._

_Powerful, hungry flames had already consumed the house. The structure had already fallen in on itself and the blistering heat was catching onto the nearby greenery. Tony knew that his friend was in there, letting himself die to see the states that he had loved so much. And Tony would never deny him that._

_So he sat down and waited, waited for the flames to finally give out hours later to try to find a piece of the corpse left to bury. _

_It really wasn't that hard, Tony knew that the room his friend had wanted to die in was the hidden room in the back nobody was ever allowed in. Treading carefully to the approximate location of the room, Tony was in for a surprise. He didn't find his friend's corpse, he found him living and breathing._

_Tony stood over the prone body, knowing that he would wake up, yet unsure why he would still be living._

_And his friend did wake up._

_Then began screaming._

_He screamed to someone named Rome._

_He screamed about Hell._

_He screamed about how it was always his fault._

_And he screamed about his states._

_At one point his body completely gave out on him and he slumped, unconscious._

_Figuring that this was as good a time as any, Tony picked up his friend and put him on the spaceship he had traveled in. After starting up the engine, activating the invisibility shields, and placing his friend in the stabilizer; Tony happened to glance out the observation window._

_A young man with silky blond hair and purple eyes was walking among the ashes. He reminded Tony considerably of his friend, and Tony got the vague feeling that he should remember the young man._

_As the young man got near where the old circular room once was he seemed to have seen something and ran to it, as Tony observed interestedly. He picked up the remains of America's old bomber jacket. Then he collapsed and began… sobbing…_

_By this time Tony remembered who he was and had left._

* * *

After managing to calm down his friend, Tony managed to extract from his friend what had gone on in his trip to the afterlife.

After a while, it was clear that his friend while his friend was sent back, he suffered other problems than being reincarnated.

One problem was that since Alfred had died and America was dissolved, he didn't know who he was any more.

The second was that, because of the first problem, he began to become his states more and more often.

The third was that he just couldn't-

Think.

Straight.

And the fourth was that he seemed to have problems with his memory. Tony was suspicious that he might have been purposely blocking some memories, but for the others… He wasn't sure. His friend could do something in one body and then have only a vague memory of it in the next.

It was complicated.

And Tony didn't know what to do except hold his friend during the times when he broke down and cried.

* * *

**I don't own Hetalia.**

**I love Tony, I really do. He's awesome. **

**Thanks guys! I really didn't expect to get 100 reviews! It's amazing, oh, and thank you PortiaQuinn especially for all your help.**

**I believe that either a guest got the 100th review, so thank you! And Glass of H20 for the 99th! Should I do something for you guys? I really don't know fanfiction protocol for this...**

**As, I said, this will be a double update. But, since I am being kept under watch for finishing my homework and cleaning my room, I'll try to get out the next chapter in a few hours. Please review.**


	11. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 (June 30th, XXXX)

A young woman sat in front of a mirror in the blue building with the white and blue lobby and the brown haired receptionist. In a little apartment with neutral walls and nice view.

Her name was Samantha Vanpool, she was Alaska.

She had died many years ago.

The young woman leaned forward, applying light makeup to her already model perfect features; a silvery alien watches from behind her. Tony speaks,

"Are you completely assured that this form that you are currently in will not attract any unwanted attention?"

She lifts a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him through the mirror, "Please do not doubt me, my extra-terrestrial friend. I have not many a choice on my looks at this point, but I can say that I am feeling… Reckless."

"Indeed you seem to be," Sometimes it surprised her how well versed the alien was in Earth languages when not muttering profanities.

She stood up, her smart secretary dress swirling around her, "If that is all, I'll be off."

Tony nodded once as she walked out the door.

* * *

Standing outside of the meeting room, Samantha Vanpool scowled slightly at the mirror. Her eyes had flickered from violet to a brilliant blue. If only that would stop happening…

Footsteps alerted her to a new presence, a powerful presence.

As she twirls around as a cool voice asks, "Who are you?"

As violet eyes meet identical violet eyes she stifles a chuckle, the irony is hilarious.

Taking advantage of his confusion over their similarities, she swiftly replies, "My name is Samantha Vanpool, I assume that you are Mister Williams?"

Catching himself, Canada nods, "I am, why are you here?"

"As of yesterday Mister Peter Adams contracted a virus of a sort, I am here to fill the position of assistant to Mister Williams."

"Did Peter fill you in on all the documents and stuff?"

"Yes, Mister Williams, I am completely informed of all procedures and whatnot."

"Good, let us go in," Canada opened the door, "Ladies first."

"You are too kind, Mister Williams."

With that she entered the World Meeting.

* * *

"…And with that, the meeting is adjourned!" Canada declared. Many sighs of relief echoed around the room, the five hour meeting had been taxing for even the most stoic of them. Well except for the young female oddly familiar-looking assistant of Matthew Williams.

Everyone noticed how her posture was still straight and her look fluid. The fact that she could still be like that through a five hour meeting was just short of a miracle.

"Mister Williams," The young woman leaned towards him, "Shall we take our leave now?"

Her object of interest shook his head as if to clear it, "Yes, let's go."

They head towards the door and once again he lets her through first.

"I want my notes and copies of the other presentations as soon as possible, is that clear?"

"As a crystal. Good day, Mister Williams."

"Bye."

She leaves the government building.

* * *

"How did it go?" Tony asks the beautiful young woman walking into the apartment.

"Fairly decent, though several were rather surprised at my physical appearance."

"May I ask a question?" The question was rhetorical.

"As you will ask it despite my answer, please continue," She hangs up her jacket and sits on a chair, facing the silver being.

"You have spent nearly fifty years avoiding the nations, why are you choosing to associate yourself with them now? Especially since meeting them again in one of these forms in, say, a hundred years will be awfully suspicious."

Her wind chime laugh filled the room, "As I said before, my dear alien friend, I am reeling quite reckless. Also, why should they remember a single human out of millions a hundred years later?"

"Point taken."

Tony left the room, still vaguely puzzled over the actions of his Earthling friend.

Samantha Vanpool turned towards the table.

"Perhaps I should be getting Mister Canada a present for tomorrow."

* * *

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**As promised, my followers. Seriously, saying followers reminds me of Voldemort... Next chapter up... sometime this week...**


	12. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 (July 1st, XXXX)

Lights.

Firecrackers.

Dancing.

Dresses.

Alcohol.

Suits.

Congratulations.

Red.

White.

Party.

It was the celebration of Independence Day for the country of Canada and the birthday of a certain Matthew Williams, the personification of said country.

Many countries were here; whether out of friendship, alliance, respect, fear, or simply the fact that turning down the invitation of the strongest country in the world may or may not be a good idea.

A pretty young woman by the name of Samantha Vanpool stood at the edge of the party. Most would think that a untouchable beauty such as herself would make herself known on the dance floor, however she merely looked on with an impassive face and unreadable eyes.

Currently she was the assistant of Matthew Williams, alias of Canada. It would not due to be seen so freely enjoying herself in her employer's night.

Not many saw her turn around and leave the party.

Many would recall, but not remember, several other people who came to the party.

There was a man by the name of James who flirted with the ladies in the most remarkably gentleman-like manner near the bar for several minutes leaving.

A girl who called herself Rebecca who could only be described as 'golden' danced in entrancing movements, mesmerizing her onlookers before disappearing without a trace.

An hour or so in many could see a cocky male called Jerome telling tales of old stories of men who rode horses and settled feuds with guns to a wide eyed audience, an hour later nobody knew where he was.

The waiter with the earthen brown eyes and a name-tag of 'Carol' served refreshments to the tired and was never seen again.

Finally a beautiful woman could be seen sitting in the shadows at the side of the party, exhausted but vibrant with life. Her luscious golden hair and grass green eyes attracted many onlookers.

Yet none of them approached her.

None of them would know why if asked.

She watched as someone a counterpart of hers called Mister Williams try to get out of the party.

He looked extremely tired but happy.

After brushing off some of his friends he looked for a place to sit. Something drew him towards the lone figure sitting on the fringes of the party.

"Hey," He grinned a little goofily at her, "Do you mind if I sit here?"

"Not at all," She replied, moving slightly as so to offer a space on the bench.

"Thank you."

He sat and watched the festive, wondering why the gorgeous woman had decided to sit alone.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" He asks her.

"Well enough," She studies the how the lights move in the depth of the night, "I wonder why I forgot to come."

"What?" He's confused by her word choice.

"A long time ago I had a brother whose birthday fell on this very day," She continues as Canada stiffens, "I always forgot about his birthdays and I had held him in such low esteem… I wish I hadn't though."

Slightly perturbed he asks, "Did anything happen?"

"Yes something did and I believe that it is too late to make up by now," She sighed.

"I had a brother who once told me that it was never too late," He told her.

"As noble as that sounds, it is far too late for me."

"Why?"

The soft green eyes that reminded Canada so much of grass gazed directly into his eyes, "He's dead to me now."

She gets up and nods to him once before leaving into the throng of people. Her eyes flickering a beautiful and hauntingly familiar blue for just a moment.

Canada responds after she is long gone, "Mine is too."

* * *

The pretty young woman with the unnaturally silvery hair and violet eyes stood beside two figures, both of which could be mistaken for a brother of hers.

To be more specific, she stood next to Canada who was having a stare off with Russia.

"I do hope we can come to a compromise, comrade," Russia's voice was lilting but his eyes shown with a gleam only cruelty could endow.

"As do I, Russia," Canada's voice and eyes matches one another in their coldness.

Nearly sneering, Russia turns to leave, "I hope you've had a happy birthday."

He leaves.

Canada deflates the moment he left and groans into his hands, "I hate him, I really do."

Samantha looks at him with a professional sympathy in her cool violet eyes, "Has he been troubling you?"

"Yes," Canada sighed, "For quite a while now. It's not that there's anything wrong politically, but us as humans are disagreeing."

"How troublesome."

"I know. I'm living it. Come on, let's go back to my office. I have some things to put away."

"Of course, Mister Williams."

Side by side the two walked down the street and across town. Not once did they speak a word towards one another nor did they take the time to look at their companion.

Which is why Canada missed the way her eyes glimmered bright blue.

* * *

Arriving at Canada's office, he should have known something was wrong when the door was wide open.

Alas he did not.

"Please excuse me for not saying this earlier, but Happy Birthday, Mister Williams," She says.

"Thank you," He replies.

It was then that he crossed the room to behind his desk and saw a curious little package awaiting him. Brows furrowed, he picked it up, "I thought I said for all presents to be sent to my house…"

Cleverly hiding a smirk she spoke off-handedly, "It seems that some missed the memo."

Canada made a non-committing sound as he opened the package. Inside was a pair of glasses, an old photograph, and a note. Before he could read the note she left the room saying, "I am leaving to fetch you something to drink."

* * *

_Dear __Canadia__ Canada,_

_Happy Birthday! Man, we haven't seen each other in forever! I can't even remember when we last saw each other, actually. Oh well, time flies doesn't it? Sorry for not being able to get you an actual present, it's a lame excuse but was __gone__ busy. Still, could I ask that you hold my glasses for me? I don't need them anymore and I'm afraid that I'll lose them if I keep __changing fo__ travelling so much. _

_Happy Birthday,_

_Your late brother._

* * *

A figure stood right outside of the door to an office. In both hands were cups of water. Sobbing sounds could be heard from inside the room. The keen wailing for something long lost.

The crying man inside the room held a photograph of a pair of twins. One had the arm over the other and both grinned at the camera as if they hadn't a care in the world.

The tall stranger chuckled silently at the shocked man inside.

Blue eyes flashed and the mouth below them gave a wry type of smirk.

_Do you regret, Canada? That neither of us has a brother?_

The smirk grew.

_Because I never had a brother._

* * *

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**And so another plot twist enters. **

**Sorry about this being so late, I meant to get it done on Wednesday but I had a LOT of work to do.**

**And I was reading Harry Potter fanfics...**

**It seems that not many of you liked my last few chapters judging by the amount of reviews I got...**

**Okay, I was thinking about pairings the other day and I decided not to do a pairing because I don't generally like a pairing messing up a perfectly good plot and that I think that America is too good (bad?) for all the other characters. That and that no ones understands him and he really only cares for himself. HOWEVER I have decided to do a Holy Roman Empire and Chibitalia pairing if you remember Rome mentioning it from an earlier chapter. There will be a hint of Germany x Italy but not very much.**

**Next chapter should be sometime next weekend.**

**Or review and it might come early...**

**Now favorite and review my followers! Gah, too much Harry Potter.**


	13. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 (July 2, XXXX)

_Mister Williams is acting very strangely today._

A young female called Samantha Vanpool thought as she stood obediently behind the chair of the distressed man.

She smirked slightly.

_That's… satisfying._

Across the room another nation raised an eyebrow at her almost cruel expression. His name… Holy Ro- Germany. She nodded at him before looking at the ground. What was that name she almost called him? She shook her head slightly, the memory came from a being with a different name and a different life. A being who really two beings who was long dead.

Casting the thought out of her mind she once again focused on her employer. The violet eyed man was alive but he was dead because the same one who was really two beings that could be more, many more, who was dead never had a brother who had a brother so they must both have never existed.

She bit her lip, it was getting difficult to tell which memories were hers and which were the ones that should never had existed because the one who made them was dead and the one who held them was long gone.

Who were they? She couldn't remember, or couldn't, maybe wouldn't…

A.

The one who was two had a name that started with the letter 'A.'

Ash? Anthony? Aaron? Arthur? A flinch on that name. But why?

_Big bro-_

_Engw-_

_-made these for-_

Who had these memories? Was it- it couldn't be.

And none of her other… forms? Bodies? Containers of her soul? Or was it his- or theirs? None of them were responsible for these memories…

So she- he- they had blocked the memories as much as they can, but it was a weak dam and a tidal wave.

Because if it was _his_ memories then- But he, the one who was two or more, was dead. Dead, six feet under, didn't come back from the afterlife.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

She bit on her lip harder. Who was he? Or she? It? What was it? It that couldn't be named and It that was never cared for.

Hell, even Death itself had sent It back.

It.

It because it was not dead and not alive either. It because it was nameless and refused a single name.

And she, the pretty young woman with the violet eyes and silver hair?

She remembered caring for It. It before it became the lost and nameless It.

But she was dead, but not dead. She who couldn't be alive but couldn't be dead either because of It who, like her or made her, be merely an existence who walked on a shattered plane of existence, neither because the hellish and horrible Life or sweet and beautiful Death would accept either or any of them.

But she had a name and It didn't.

But why did she have a name when It didn't?

Was she special? Was all the other bodies and forms she became special because they had a name when It didn't? Or was It just unlucky?

But she-they-we-he- _I_ am the same as all of you.

Them.

Him.

Her.

Us.

So are they alike?

But It's dead and she's not alive and they aren't here nor there.

Blood trickles down from where her teeth penetrated her lips and questions- or were they one question?- floods her mind.

Who are they?

Who am I?

Who are we?

Who was It?

It- was…

She_ needed_ to remember but she didn't _want_ to remember because she _couldn't_ take down the dam but the flood was swelling bigger and bigger.

But the dam was cracked and she couldn't fix it because she wanted but didn't want to take it down and-

No, don't-

-Am-

-need your help!

-my way-

-eri-

You're my-

-sident was killed-

-ca!

-dissolved-

4:00

Why did-

My br-

-me alone!

Save-

-other!

Cana-

So alon-

-Rome?

-nada, don't!

No, they-

-irginia and the-

Al-

-falt, my-

-fre-

-sent back.

Don't leave-

Alfr-

-leave me-

Alfre-

-me alone!

Her body shook.

America. My brother. Canada. Alf-

Blackness.

* * *

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**And so I write the most confusing chapter I've ever written/seen.**

**Did any of you follow on this? Any? I kind of want to see your assumptions. Explain your thoughts to me and I'll give some answers in my next Author's Note. Hint: Remember me saying that I (in my opinion) personifications have two different sides?**

**Imperio! Review! **


	14. Interlude 3 Germany

Interlude 3 Germany

Germany was an intelligent and organized nation. Some might say a cleaning crazy control freak, but not many would say that to his face. Excluding Prussia of course. And occasionally Romano…

So, Germany liked to keep an organized and constantly updated mental database about everything he's ever seen or heard about, including images and data charts from his photographic memory. Nobody knew that his intelligence and mental strength went that far, but he was fine with that.

What he wasn't fine with was being confused.

That's exactly what that Peter Adams was doing at first and this new assistant of Canada's was doing now. They were shaking his mental database.

It wasn't only that sometimes their eyes flashed a agonizingly familiar blue, or that they were impossible to understand much less read, or even that he kept on getting a sense of déjà vu whenever he looked at them even though his photographic memory told him that he never met them before. After all, he can remember everything and one he ever saw or met since the day he was formed.

Or did he?

Ever since he saw Peter Adams he kept on getting flashes and visions that he never recalled having. It was as if some small and buried part of his mind or soul was trying to remind him of something. And lately his strange dreams and images of that little girl with the cute dresses and the broomstick were increasing.

On top of that he was a little uneasy over a flashback he had in which he looked into a mirror and found that a young blue eyed boy in a black suit was gazing back at him. For the first time ever, according to his mental database, he realized that he didn't have memories of himself as a child.

It was really strange.

Germany was an intelligent and organized nation, but he sacrificed learning emotions in favor of learning information. So he didn't know what to think about these strange feelings that his Italian companion, not Romano, was bringing up for him. Or the small voice of a child coming from the recently discovered blocked off part of his mind that was crying over not getting something done or fulfilling a promise.

This chain reaction started with the arrival of these assistants.

So, he watched the strange young woman, a teenager really, as she stood behind Canada's chair with her perfect posture and perfect features. She was ridiculous in her perfection, really. And she looked alarmingly like some strange combination of Canada and Russia. He told himself it was a coincidence, but something kept nagging at him.

For a second her features twisted into a cruel, almost sadistic smirk as she looked at Canada. It gave Germany a sense of unease and he lifted an eyebrow at her. She looked at him and for a second her eyes glimmered; she was too far away to see exactly what had happened but he thought that he saw a flash of blue for a moment.

Completely wiping off all expressions from her face she nodded at him before looking at the floor. He looked at her suspiciously once more before turning to the panicking Italian next to him, something about a pasta shortage… again. He then spent the next ten minutes trying to assure his first friend that there was indeed not a pasta shortage before Italy went completely off topic,

"Germany? What's happening to the pretty woman behind Canada?"

Narrowing his eyes he turned towards the source of Italy's confusion and his own headache. The girl, Samantha Vanpool, was glaring at Canada's back and once again her eyes were glimmering. She was biting her lip and, as Germany watched, a small trickle of blood began to run down her lip, making her look like those untouchably beautiful vampires often seen in modern literature.

But, above all, it was the expressions that were crossing her face. Looks of adoration were distinctly crossed with the glares of absolute hatred while fear shared space with comfort. However, what was really scaring Germany was the look of alarm and disbelief rapidly spreading on her face. And then, suddenly, she collapsed.

By then everyone had saw her and Canada had turned to see her fall.

People blocked his view and then he heard gasping as he stood and walked over only to see-

* * *

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**Okay, I lied. I didn't explain anything. I'll have someone explain that in hopefully the next chapter. And about that... I'm taking a break- is hiatus a word?- for two weeks to a month minus my Role Play(s). Or until a) guilt overwhelms me or b) my friends make me. Hope to see you guys soon.**


	15. Chapter 11

Chapter 11 (Still July 2, XXXX)

Canada watched, shocked and amazed, at the prone form of his assistant. He was only aware of the reason of the increased amount of stares in his direction when he had heard her collapse. Now he could only wonder why the image of her is flickering and changing.

Before his eyes she slowly changed looks and molded her features into that of the beautiful blond that he had met yesterday. Then the hair darkened and her features became softer into the form of a pale, auburn female.

A hesitant hand taps his shoulders and he snaps out of his reverie to acknowledge the one beside him.

Japan looks at him with his forever unreadable eyes, "Canada-san, perhaps we should move her to a place more comfortable then the ground."

He nods and gestures for Germany to help pick her up. They lift her and make way towards the door, England opens it for them and they leave. Several nations follow them, consisting of Japan, Italy, France, and China.

Once outside Canada muses aloud, "Where should we bring her, obviously a hospital is not an option."

"How about the break room?" Italy suggests, "There's a couch that we could put her on."

"I'm not sure if she is still a she," France interrupts to the consternation of the others.

Surely enough, when they spin and see the form of the young female they were holding change into that of-

"Peter?" Canada exclaims with no small amount of alarm. First his assistant collapses and now she was a he and now that he was his old assistant. He hadn't seen anything as strange as this since- since _he_ had died. A wave of some indiscernible emotion floods through him.

"Canada-san, perhaps we should be more exigent in our need to find the break room," Japan reminds them all.

Canada nods and heads them towards the meeting room, disturbed and confused. The man had some explaining to do once he woke up. Or she. He was so confused.

China's eyes narrows at when Peter Adams changes into the form of an old man with gray hair then into a balding man with a long form, "This isn't right," He speaks, "I've never seen anything like this since the days the spirits and gods used to roam the Earth for all to see. And that was thousands of years ago."

Japan nods, "I agree, this is most unusual."

Germany raises an eyebrow at this, "You have seen this before?"

"Yes," China answers, "a very long time ago. I was probably less than five hundred years old…"

"And?" Canada prompted.

"It was a young nation; I don't think that he or she, I can't remember, lasted more than a hundred years. I remember him trying to become a country, he was an ambitious kid with little respect for anyone," At this China sniffs from a long forgotten grudge, "He had a family, I remember, dysfunctional, like my provinces, but still a family. I noticed that after he became a nation that family suddenly disappeared, I never saw them again."

"As wonderful as this story is, may you tell me the purpose of it?" England asks to China's indignation.

While glaring he continues, "The boy, he went insane. First he began speaking with different voices, some of I had recognized to be his family. Then I noticed that he began to look different every time I saw him. It is too long ago to remember, but all I really can remember is shock when I saw him change forms in an argument with himself."

"What happened?" Italy asks.

China looks away, "I- I do not know. It was a long time ago, but I believe that his country was overtaken and destroyed."

"So you never found out?" England deadpanned.

China glared again, "No, I didn't."

Germany, who had been listening silently, now interrupts what could have become a fight. He had seen something happen to this every-changing entity and now felt that he should warn the others. Because this might be the key to unlocking the closed section of his mind with the little boy crying and crying about that girl with the panties and the broomstick and- His head hurt too much to remember.

Instead he speaks, "What… What is happening to him?"

"Haven't you been listening? We don't-" England spins to see his fellow nation and the unconscious figure and falters, "...know…"

For, as they watch, the sullen looking teenager who was currently the form of the figure was changing once again. The lengthy dark hair shortens and lightens to a slightly messy style of golden colored hair. The form ages several years into that of a muscled and strong late teenager and his face turns from sharp and almost pointed to an angelic face that-

"My _God_," Canada's emotion wrought exclamation was the only thing heard in the silence.

As brilliant blue eyes watches them.

* * *

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**I just reread my last update, aaaand that was pretty cruel wasn't it? This was a very short update, I'm trying to see how long I can go before one of you guys kill me. Just kidding, the confrontation is soon, I'm already writing it.**

**I actually meant to stay on break for a while, but a ****_delightful_**** little chat with Mon Esprit Libre made me change my mind. Also, while I'm pointing fingers, sorry to one of my followers (Lord Voldy style!) who found that there was too much 'mind screw' in this. I'm sorry. I have a weird mind.**

**I am so cruel. Review while I go back onto break!**


	16. Drabble Waking

**Drabble: Waking**

Who am I today?

_He wonders with an offhand approach. He couldn't remember who he was last. Maybe he was a policeman or a thief. A doctor or a thug. A villain or a hero. _

_So, who was he?_

_Did he have family this time? He hoped he did. Maybe the golden haired person who was his early caretaker or maybe the quiet onlooker who was his sibling was here. Or maybe his other family was here too. Or maybe he had children this time. But, as he thinks harder, he had never had a child before._

_He had friends before. He had family before. He had had parents and siblings. He had had aunts and uncles. At one point he may even had had a lover or two. But the last time he saw them was too long ago._

_And now, in the world outside of his darkness, he can hear people talking. He can hear them confused and can hear them shocked. He can even hear annoyance. But he doesn't hear what he wants to hear. He can't hear love and affection or laughter and happiness. _

_Then again, when was the last time he heard that around him?_

_He can't remember who he is and maybe he doesn't want to remember._

_Even so he lifts the darkness obscuring his eyes and sees._

* * *

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Aaaah, you should come to expect less of me.**

** On a side note, I've become depressed. I'm not sure when the next update is.**


	17. Chapter 12

**To my faithful followers, please read the note at the bottom.**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

He's dizzy and confused. His eyes are blinded and his head is pounding. There are too many lights burning him and too many things floating inside his head because all the rest of them are there too. It hurts and he wants to sleep again, sleep forever.

But he can't because the faces in front of him are too familiar. Not good.

His eyes open but are already open and he watches the too familiar faces and too familiar people. Something tells him something, but he can't hear and doesn't want to know. Does he know them? Did he know them? He didn't know that because part of him said yes and most of him screamed no.

They're calling him.

"Alfred?"

But he can't hear them. He can't recognize the oh-so-familiar name. Or maybe he does. But he tells himself that he doesn't because he can't. He can't, he can't, he can't- but maybe he d- can't.

So instead he asks, "Who's that?"

* * *

Canada was in shock. For the first time in nearly fifty years he sees his brother again. And that brother can't remember who he is.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

His brother… no… the man with those disturbingly blank eyes tilts head like the innocent child lost long ago and asks, "Who's that?"

Something inside him breaks, shattering his heart, tearing his soul. This was his fault, wasn't it? But it wasn't like he wanted it to happen, so… was it his fault? But where was the fault if it was his? Was he sorry for killing him, or bringing him back? Or did he die at all?

"Alfred," Canada- _Matthew_ finds himself repeating, "You're Alfred."

"No," His brother says, confused and… wary- _I'm sorry-don't do that again- it hurts so badly_… for some reason, "I-I am…"

He trails off, seemingly confused. The blank eyes obtain a distant sort of curiosity in its weakest form. They could never have been the bright blue eyes that were the sky.

"No, I am… but you are… I'm not It, I'm not him… And you are…"

_Lord, please remember me, Alfred. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, I really didn't. I'm so sorry._

"…but you aren't either…"

None of them dare speak.

But he can still hear himself shatter.

* * *

England watches this all in shock. America, America was _here_ he was _alive_. He was… alive… He wants to laugh and cry and hug him and scream at him- England never did get to say goodbye all those years ago. And he missed him so terribly afterwards.

"Alfred, lad, surely you remember us, at least?" He has to remember, England _needs_ him to remember. Because pain was a hungry, greedy thing and guilt ever more so. This was the chance that he dreams about in the dark witching hours where light was non-existent and the demons ran free; he will not lose this chance. After all, it's not every day a previously thought dead friend and sibling comes back to life.

_Please remember…_

Alfred- because that just _had_ to be him- looks at the English gentleman with the perturbing empty eyes, "Who? I am… I am… not…" At this his image flickers and briefly morphs into that of Canada's old assistant, "Peter?" His form flickers back to America's and then to one of a small girl with bouncy brown curls, "No, Amanda, maybe?" And then, once again, he was Alfred. But not.

"I don't know."

_But to what question, lad?_ He wonders miserably, _What question do you not know?_

* * *

Germany watches the formerly dead nation with alarm in his formerly stoic face. This didn't compute; this couldn't process in his mental data base. He runs through his lists once more, this could not be right.

This Peter Adams, Samantha Vanpool, Amanda, whoever- isn't normal, isn't right, isn't fitting into his rule of norms. His rules, instructions, they keep him from going insane in this strange world. And this couldn't be right, this isn't fitting the rules-

America was dead, dead! Gone, vanished, _killed_. He was dead, he still should be dead.

But, then again, shouldn't Prussia be dead? Germany tried never to think too hard about him but… if he was still alive then that meant that-

_Don't go Holy Ro-_

Then maybe _he_ was still alive. That little voice in the blocked part of his mind becomes slightly clearer. But if that boy wasn't dead then maybe he was… still alive? Or maybe…

Life had too many twists and turns and hidden falls, maybe rules couldn't define everything.

Maybe he- but know he doesn't know who he speaks of- is still alive.

His arms unconsciously wrap and tighten around Italy.

_-love you more than anyone in the world._

* * *

_Amerique, you are alive…_

"Do you- do you not remember us, Alfred?" His little boy, Canada, pleads with the blond shape shifter. France wants to tell him to run, run far away because he recognizes something in the shape shifter's eyes.

It's America, or maybe it's Alfred, but it isn't either, his eyes are too dead and his voice is too empty. France recognizes this.

He's just a dead man being forced to live.

France wasn't always a pervert; he was intelligent, understanding, even whimsical occasionally. And, above everything else, he could read people. He was the country of love, after all. Love and hate were the strongest emotions, walking side by side in a twisted and curving path. They fed off each other while killing one another in their fiery, spiraling dance; yet, with all their connection and combinations, a fine, very fine, line rested in between, a separator of sorts. The separator that existed everywhere.

"But who are you?" The shape shifter whispers, eyes empty but filled with pain, "I don't remember you, and I- they don't know you…"

France can see it, he can read the fine line between Alfred's lost soul and closed mind.

It's denial.

But for what?

* * *

_"But Big Sister," He cried in a childish voice, hugging himself with his own arms._

_"I'm here, shush my brother, I'm still here," A melodious female voice comforts, akin to the birds who decide to sing during the golden mornings._

_"But you're not!" The boy screamed thrashing in the hard ground of the woods, "You're not here!"_

_"I'm here, I love you," The female voice coos, "We all do."_

_He continues screaming, "But you're not, you're not!"_

_China withdraws from the trees he had been hiding behind, alarmed and even scared. He quickly leaves the woods and the boy, because there was no one else there. He hears the crying and screaming long after he is gone._

But now the boy with so many voices who had cried so far inside the woods was long dead, and the golden haired young man in front of him should have been. Yet he wasn't. Were they ever?

Seeing the dead was not a new experience for China, definitely not a normal one, but not a unique one.

China has lived such a long time, too long he would think in the dead of the night, and he's seen the living try to die and the dead come back to life. And in all the times he's seen it there was always a purpose, a reason behind it all.

And maybe he was slowly figuring out his.

Life was so bland without death, in all truths. And the boy in front of him wasn't dead, was never dead, just pretending when he really was.

It all made sense to the ancient nation, the immortal among immortals.

* * *

Italy looks on the scene with a type of detached confusion. Detached, distant, disconnected. He was usually so very detached from the world, so this interesting occurrence was even more interesting for dragging him back to this hellish Earth. Maybe Earth really was hell for all those who lacked life.

And his lips almost lift into a smile at the lifeless but breathing but not living man in front of him. It takes one to know one.

He watches with the stupid, vacant expression always on his face disappearing as he comes back into touch with reality for once. It feels strange not to be so far back in his mind, so trapped in his thoughts; he can't even say it was pleasant to return to reality because _he's_ not here with him.

He's slipping back already…

Does he really even want to stay?

America… He seems to be alive. That was… good. Great even. If he is still alive and Prussia still is… does that mean that-

_Don't go Holy Roman…_

_Take this Holy Roman Empire, and think of it as me!_

_Ever since the-_

_-loved you._

_Farewell then, Ita-_

_We'll see-_

_-will! Really will!_

_No matter how many-_

_-years pass-_

_-always love you-_

He feels his eyes begin to close and fog over again, but this time he forces them back open again to watch the being in front of him. America being alive would be an alarming and emotional thing for the other nations. England and Canada would be upset, no doubt about that and maybe, probably they would be guilty. Guilty of what he wasn't certain. The other nations were never welcoming of America, this would be distressing to them. And that was… cruel. It made him think.

Would anyone care if he suddenly died one day?

He doesn't know, but as strong arms envelop him and he's protected behind the strong, strong body of that tall blond man with blue, blue eyes who-

Isn't _him_.

He sighs and leans forward, slightly, into the warmth of the muscular back, taught with tension but warm with _life_.

At least someone would care.

* * *

Japan tries his hardest to maintain his expression of neutrality, but he is unable to. He can't while looking into the eyes of his lost friend. America's eyes are unseeing as he looks at them all, and Japan wants to flinch as the eyes merely pass over him.

The older nation was known among many for his reading the atmosphere, but what nobody except himself knew was that he could literally feel and _see_ the atmosphere. He may have synesthesia; he was never quite sure and was too afraid to be tested**, **afraid of being singled he cannot deny that he sees the flickering light blue tension in the atmosphere currently was nearly tangible. Well, to the others. He could feel the course edges of it almost caressing him.

He knows that Canada's shaking and bluish green feeling of guilt was overwhelming him.

That England wants nothing more than to reach over and embrace his former friend and charge and those feelings swirled around in a clear red-orange tint, heated and fiery to touch.

That Germany and China is similarly alarmed, the spikes of the electric green emotion nearly identical though Germany seemed more confused and China confirming.

That France was thinking very deeply about something, he couldn't tell what, only that the red fog surrounding him was growing into a frenzied turmoil.

That Italy is probably confused, but Italy's emotions always confused him with their detached and seemingly… nostalgic… warm yellow haze.

And America… He could feel many different emotions coming off him, too many for one single person, yet they all seemed muffled by the hazy grayish web of… was that denial? He reaches slightly for it but the haze is freezing to his touch, warding him off. His hand recoils back.

As for Japan, Japan felt guilty and sorrowful about what had happened to America, no, Alfred. Japan had felt that it was in best interests for his people to stay away from America, but Kiku… Kiku had regretted it ever since. He knows he does by the dripping, slimy purple tint that covers his vision every time he watches a horror movie or plays a video game. He regrets that he turned his back on his friend in his time of desperate need.

So now he pleads to whoever this new Alfred may be,

_Please forgive us, forgive me…_

Nobody says anything, there's nothing to say. What could you say to a dead person? What could you say to a killer? What could you say if you can't remember who you are?

Of course, nobody voices these questions.

But the purple slime that he had come to learn was regret fills and oozes around him and the blue-green swirls of guilt accompany it. An ocean of despair.

Finally Italy speaks up from behind a suddenly protective Germany, "But, aren't you America?"

The blond man's brows furrowed, creasing his face. A look of confusions molds the features, "Oh, him? Isn't he dead?"

"Then you're Alfred," Italy cocks his head to the side and the yellow haze clears slightly.

Alfred's mouth opens to answer as Japan's eyes widens in alarm as he sees the gray haze of denial thickens around the feelings no one else can see.

_No! Don't say any-_

His head tilts to the side, mimicking Italy's and he speaks, "I think… I remember him… I'm not sure if he was ever alive…"

* * *

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**First of all, thank you all for your reviews and comfort from the last chapter, you guys don't know how much it means to me. I promise I won't abandon this fic, it would be heart breaking to both my faithful followers as well as myself.**

**Another thing is that I was reviewing what I wrote when I realized something terrible. All these characters are OOC. They're pretty much OCs with the same names and appearances. I'm sorry, can we just all pretend it was because the world changed so much? Thank you, i'm really sorry.**

**I also realized that not only have I let all my headcanons out on this (did you read the Japan section?) but also developed a B-Plot (next paragraph). This is kinda awkward. I didn't really mean for it to happen like this. I just thought that since the America I'm writing isn't the bright, cheerful guy, maybe France isn't always a pervert and Italy may be depressed over the fate of HRE. I understand if you abandon this. **

**Once again, there are only two pairings in this fic. The first is HRExItaly and, because of my HRE=Germany headcanon, GermanyxItaly. I'm sorry if you don't like pairings. Usually if a fic develops a prominent pairing I'd drop it so feel free to drop this. If you haven't noticed it is the B-Plot.**

**Once again, this story isn't going exactly as planned and I didn't mean to develop any pairings. I beg of you to bear with me.**


	18. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

_I'm tired right now. I want to sleep…_

_… And maybe this time I won't wake up._

* * *

"Wh- what do you mean he's dead? You're Alfred… right?" Canada asks, reaching forward to make sure that this man in front of him his real but the illusion stands and backs away.

"No, he was alive… But not all the time…" He mumbles. Suddenly the not-Alfred stiffens and his eyes lose what's left of their focus.

"A-Alfred?" Canada, but now he's Matthew, cries, once again trying to touch the illusion that was but wasn't his former brother.

To his surprise he is held back, and to his shock it's China's arm that blocks his path.

"China? What are you-"

"Watch."

The command his simple and the eyes hold the uncountable years of wisdom so he obeys despite the emotional turmoil inside him. He watches as his former brother's stature shortens and his hair darkens to chocolaty brown and his eyes become hazel. And suddenly the illusion isn't his brother any more.

The new boy's face is a happy one, so different from the vacancy his previous form carried.

"Hello, Misters!" This new boy speaks cheerfully in a slight, indefinable accent, evidently unaware of the moroseness in the atmosphere, "You all do seem familiar, have we ever met before?"

China locks eyes with Germany and a strange understanding passes between them.

"Alfred, I'm your-" Canada is cut off by Germany who quickly and almost roughly pulls him aside while China answers.

"No, I do not believe we have met. What's your name, boy?" China questions in a soft and friendly voice, kneeling to the boy's level.

"My name is Dexter Valdov, sir! May I ask yours?" The boy, Dexter he calls himself, grins at China.

China smiles softly back, a look of understanding on his face, "I see, my name is Wang Yao, Dexter, or rather Yao Wang in you Western tongue. This is my brother Kiku and my… friends… Matthew, Arthur, Ludwig, Feliciano, and Francis. Do they sound familiar to you?"

The boy smiles apologetically, shaking his head, "I am very sorry Mr. Yao, I don't think recognize any of you, actually. I had thought so for a second."

"Alfred- what do you-"

"Lad, don't you-"

Matthew and England are cut off by Ger- Ludwig and Francis respectively. For the moment they are all human, but that holds little meaning to a country. Yet they are not countries for this moment in time.

"Let Yao speak," Kiku casts them a sidelong glance.

"How strange," Yao continues as if nothing had happened, "I seem to remember you from some time ago. Do you live around here, Dexter?"

Dexter shakes his head, "I'm from Nevada, or rather the Nevadian Province. We could not have met before, sir. Excuse me, but I have to see Mr. Robert very soon. It was nice meeting you, Misters!"

"It was indeed," Yao's look become distant as he already fades from the conversation.

Dexter salutes Boy Scout style to the true nations before running off. Matthew and Arthur are forcibly restrained by Francis and Ludwig. Only after the boy is out of sight do they release the two other blonds. Matthew immediately spins around and punches Ludwig with all the force he could muster. Though not often used, the Canadian had formidable strength, as shown when the distinct cracking noise of the German's shoulder fills the silence left by the immortal and the shape shifter.

Now the immortal turns to the rest of the nations, focus returning to the old eyes, "You shouldn't have hit him."

"What?" Matthew sputters, rage flaring the violet eyes, "He- he- That was my- And you just-"

"Why did you let him leave?" It was Arthur who speaks now, cold anger gleaming in the green irises. The eyes of the old empire burn like the sun it had always claimed to hold. His voice his deadly calm, a tone only saved for rare occasions.

Soundlessly Ludwig- or is he Germany now?- gestures to Yao. Feliciano silently approaches and embraces him, softening the carefully blank eyes and emotionless posture.

"Well?"

Yao sighs, once again thinking that his existence had long since surpassed his time, but those thoughts were often and their actions were few, "That… I do not know how to explain this... That boy who just left, Dexter… He isn't your brother. He never was."

* * *

"What do you mean by that?" Arthur asks, crimson anger now heating the space around him. But only Japan can see and feel the harsh edges of the emotion. The personification of the island nation now crosses the floor to Matthew, a hand on his shoulder and the twin red shades of passionate outrage growing and feeding each other.

Yao chuckles and a strange mixture of soft golden and red mists form an orange. A soft shade of orange, akin to when the sun rises or sets. Kiku narrows his eyes slightly, Yao only develops that aura when reminiscing of days long past.

Infuriation spikes out from Matthew and Arthur, but before they could say anything Yao speaks again, "It seems that your brother is not dead, obviously. But I can't say that's he's alive, either… Or at least he doesn't _think _he is."

Harsh blue annoyance flares from Matthew, clashing with the bright crimson, "You know what? Forget it. I'm going to find Alfred. Don't you _dare_ try and stop me."

He storms out, along with Arthur. Brothers in blood and grief.

"Ve… Ludwig? Are they angry?" Italy wonders aloud, leaning against the taller man. The peculiar yellow haze of nostalgia is returning, having been absent for some time. A tinge of happy pink could be faintly seen but Kiku still finds him unreadable.

Ludwig sighs, holding his head in the wave like violet confusion coming from him. "They are, Feliciano." To the remaining nations it was Germany who now says, "Italy and I are going to be taking our leave now. To… sort out matters…"

Yellow nostalgia, much like Italy's, covers his thoughts and Japan nods for the rest of them. They exit in a warm honey yellow trance.

* * *

"You have more to say," Francis accuses Yao. He narrows his eyes, what the Chinese man had said made sense with what he himself could figure out. But something is still missing and he isn't sure quite what.

"Indeed," Yao speaks distantly, eyes gleaming with long forgotten history, "You have personifications of your different regions, correct?"

"Oui."

"And I have my provinces and Japan had his clans and feudal domains. Now tell me, when America was still a country, did you ever meet any of his states?"

"No, but- I see," Francis bit his lip, "So are you saying-?"

"The _United_ States of America," Yao emphasizes with his hands, "Interesting name, no?"

"But there are other countries who-"

China swiftly interrupts the Frenchman, seemingly not even hearing him speak, "You told me, once, that he had so much potential as a child. That you were so disappointed in the way he had turned out. Am I correct?"

"Well, I-"

"Am I correct?"

"Oui. Where are you going with this?"

"Now tell me, when the country America was alive, how did Alfred act?"

"He sometimes acted-"

Kiku cuts in, playing along with China's theory and knowing that political correctness held no part in this, "Alfred-san acted loud, noisy, and annoying."

"Exactly. Think carefully on this, have you ever seen either America _or_ Alfred act with deep emotions."

France narrows his eyes, "Explain that," he said flatly, draining emotion from his voice.

"Have you ever seen him truly be in love? Have you seen him fear with his whole being? Have you seen him hate anyone at all?"

"During the Cold War he hated Russia…"

Yao smirks, a childish grin that never fit the reservation supposedly granted to his age, "But how did he act towards Russia?"

Francis's eyes widens as he realizes what China is implying. Japan answers for him, eyebrows rising and the carefully neutral mask finally breaking.

"He was loud, boisterous, irritating, provocative…"

France shook his head, how interesting, even as the country of love he could never- And it was him who links love to hate, "So it wasn't hate. So… he never felt real emotions?"

"He has," Japan mutters. The other two personifications swing around to see him. Francis gathers the faint notion that the Asians, both of them, knew more than they were currently letting on. But all countries held secrets and it wasn't and will never be his place to ask them. He himself knew the sickly sweet, almost soothing nightmares that prevented sleep in those long, lonely nights in dark hours. He never told others and never will, quietly living through the horrors on his own.

The joys of a nation.

An unspoken rule between nations is to never closely question each other. Secrets are secrets and nightmares are meant to be suffered alone.

China glances at Kiku but keeps the within the rule, "As Kiku says, Alfred did feel emotions, so we can rule that out."

"Out of what?"

Yao ignores the question, voiced by both of the other men, "Japan, do you know if _America _ever felt deep emotions?"

The other Asian tilts his head, pondering, "Pink and honey," he whispers, "Happiness and friendship…" Then he shakes his head, "Silver sheen, gray dome, artificial and denial." Offering no explanation to the cryptic statements he finally speaks aloud, "Alfred, or America? How troublesome…"

France, or maybe Francis sighs, a sad smile gracing his lips, "There's no difference and that's all the difference."

"Do you truly believe that?" China inquires.

France doesn't directly answer and maybe that was all the answer they needed, "Can any of us tell the difference between who we are? Are you China or are you Yao? Am I Francis or am I France? Are we immortals pretending to be human, or mortals playing at God? Or maybe a combination of both?"

"My point exactly," Yao says.

"Let us not digress," Japan breaks into the conversation, which was taking a dangerous turn to what should not be and should never be questioned, "Why ask about emotions, Yao-san?"

"Just think, even us nations, whether we be human or country, we have emotions. But America, or maybe Alfred, did not in our presence. Is that not strange?" The question is rhetoric and he continues without pause, "A mask hides a lie and a lie is a mask. You never saw his states and you've never seen past his mask. Do you remember the story I told you? Of the young nation who went insane?"

"What are you implying?" France asked.

"Maybe something similar is there. Perhaps he really is his states, or perhaps they became part of him. Fifty personifications forced into the body of yet another one would lead to too many emotions. Even by ourselves we can rarely distinguish who we are to what we stand for. That is all I can tell right now. But too many factors are missing for us to know any more. And I doubt that it is our place to know this."

They nod and silently leave. Nations were never meant to question the mysteries of life. It only made the nightmares worse and the pain stronger.

What miserable existences.

* * *

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**Happy Thanksgiving everyone! **

**Man, I've been out for a long time. This was originally two chapters, but I combined it just for you guys. Aren't you glad?  
I hoped that I explained some things here... Ask me the remaining questions, but note that more explaining will happen in the next chapter. With Tony. Cuz he's awesome.**

**Also, I have a mission. During the New Year's I want to update all my stories and start the new stories simultaneously and I'm trying to get as many people as possible to as well. Can any one join me? Just start or update a story on New Year's day or the week of it. I'd like support, please tell as many as you can.**

**On a completely unrelated note, I joined wrestling! Yes, I'm a girl, and the only girl on the the team. I'm a lot stronger and heavier than I look, but most of the kids in my grade know that. Someof the guys freaked out. Currently I'm trying to get my coach to play 'I'll Make A Man Out Of You' by Mulan during practice.**

**I love reviews... motivation, you know?**


	19. THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER

**Apologies.**

**This is not an update if you read the chapter title. I am so sorry for giving all of you this false hope.**

**I don't know how to continue this story, the ending has been planned out, yes, but no major/satisfactory climax is on the horizon. I personally find this my most thought provoking story, but also the simplest and furthest from my writing style and ideal writing style, which makes it hard to write.**

**However, I WILL FINISH THIS STORY, as I hate for any story to be abandoned. I just don't know when I'm going to finish it.**

**Sorry again guys, thanks for sticking with me.**

**insanelaughtler out**


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